


A Place to Rest

by gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hair Brushing, Post-Scene: Crucifixion of Jesus 33 AD (Good Omens), Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 13:01:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21338674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/gaslightgallows
Summary: They are the last ones to leave the place of execution, and when they leave, they leave together.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 58





	A Place to Rest

**Author's Note:**

> Written for glitchingicarus on Tumblr, who wanted something post-Golgotha. This was **fun** and I might do more with this at some point. :D
> 
> [ **Oh and there's also a comic version that they did that you need to read RIGHT NOW** ](https://glitchingicarus.tumblr.com/post/188867780642/they-are-the-last-ones-to-leave-the-place-of)
> 
> If you're over on Tumblr, please consider following me at [gaslightgallows.tumblr.com](https://gaslightgallows.tumblr.com/) for more fic, reblogs about writing, and lots of randomness. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and especially for commenting. Comments are love. ♥

"Come away, Crowley," Aziraphale urged gently, tugging at the demon's black robes. "We're the last ones here."

“They've all gone? Already?"

"Yes. It's all over now. We've done what we came to do, seen what we came to see. We can both rest now. Come away."

"Where?" asked Crowley, his face bleak. 

"I have a house in the village. No one will notice you there, I'll make sure of it. You need rest," Aziraphale added, after a moment.

Crowley said nothing, but yielded at last to the angel's persistence, and went with him away from the place of execution, pulling his veil across his face, though not to hide from the eyes of others. Aziraphale tucked Crowley's arm under his and led him down and into the village as carefully as though he was made of glass. 

They went slowly, so slowly that it was dark by the time they reached Aziraphale's small home. He lit an oil lamp and sat Crowley on the bed, an object he had purely for appearance's sake, and poured wine. "Thank you," he said, after a time. 

"For what?" 

"For staying with me."

Crowley snorted into his cup. "Might say the same thing to you. I won't, though. It might make it back to the wrong ears."

"Yes, well. So might this." Aziraphale contemplated the dark red liquid in his cup. He felt suddenly sick, which was as odd as it was unpleasant, and set his drink aside. "I knew him when he was a child, you know."

"Oh? What was he like?"

"A holy little terror. Heaven's sense of humor can be brutal." And violent, he thought fearfully, but Crowley barked out a laugh and Aziraphale smiled in spite of his misgivings. It was true, anyway. 

They drank more wine (well, Crowley drank more wine), and at some point Crowley removed his caftan, letting his hair spill freely over his shoulders. "Ugh, what a mess," he muttered, snagging his fingers in the red strands. "I don't suppose you have a comb about..."

Aziraphale did not (as interested as he was beginning to be in things like fashion, he had yet to convince his corporation's hair to be anything but monstrously curly, which did not lend itself well to any sort of length) but he quietly miracled one up behind his back and handed it to Crowley with his compliments. 

"Thanks... nope, damn it, this isn't going to work." Crowley looked at the comb sourly. "I'm going to have to go short."

"Here," said Aziraphale, sitting beside him, "let me."

Crowley gave up the comb gladly and turned to give the angel better access. "Start from the bottom," he suggested. 

They had a few false starts, and one incautious yank made Crowley yelp so loudly Aziraphale worried the neighbors would think he had disreputable company, but after that he got the hang of it quickly, holding the long, tangled, ochre-coloured masses in one hand and stroking with the comb in the other, and using only a tiny bit of divine intervention to get out the worst of the snarls. 

"Oh, that was nice," Crowley murmured, when he was finished. He sounded sleepy, and proved that to be the case when he slumped back and plopped his head into Aziraphale's lap. 

Aziraphale doused the lamp with a gesture and let him sleep, stroking his hair from time to time and worrying and wondering many blasphemous things in the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> [Did I mention glitchingicarus did a comic version of this fic? :D :D :D](https://glitchingicarus.tumblr.com/post/188867780642/they-are-the-last-ones-to-leave-the-place-of)


End file.
